Don’t Worry it’s on me

“I don't care how poor a man is; if he has family, he's rich”- Dan Wilcox
Ever since the day I was born my parents have not only taken care of me but also the rest of my relatives: my grandparents, uncles, and especially my Tia Leah, my dad’s younger sister. Sometimes I wonder why, but it’s simply the way my father was brought up and it’s the way he wants us also to be. . She grew up in a pretty hectic home. My grandmother had been divorced three times. My dad lost his father at a young age; and money was always lacking. Leah jumped around from school to school, and never really had anyone to call a parental figure in her life.
As difficult as life was for her, my Tia always loved to take care of those in need. Even in times when she was the one that needed someone. She dreamed of it and made it her goal to reach it. If there ever was a sick person, she would be there trying to prescribe them medication (even when she didn’t even know what the cause of their pain was) or if a bird was hurt she would rescue it and make him her pet. At a young age she began her strive to become a doctor. She graduated top in her class and was able to get a full scholarship to Vanderbilt University. Her family’s economic means weren’t enough for her to go there, so she worked hard to stay. Later she returned to Panama, where my father was beginning a family, and continued with her studies.
This is when things became even more difficult for her. Her father didn’t pay for any of her expenses, so she depended fully on my father. I remember always being with my Tia and going out as a family. She would always feel bad that my father had to pay for everything, so every once in a while she would try to pay for lunches or dinners. Still she always got the same response from my dad, “Don’t worry it’s on me.” As much as it embarrassed her to have my family always pay for her, she promised my mom and dad someday that she would pay us back. As a way of returning the favor she would babysit me or play with my brothers. I can remember the many movies we watched together: Lion King, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White. I remember when she thought I had meningitis. She stayed with me all night long, not once leaving my side, trying to make sure that I was not in pain. She kept my parents worry-free and me as comfortable as possible.
My Tia continued her studies and graduated as a doctor from the University of Panama. She later returned to the states where she met her husband and they decided to come back to Panama to have my cousin Sophia. A few weeks after Sophie was born she decided to go to back and begin her Residency at Baptist Hospital in Nashville, Tennessee. During her residency she became Chief Resident. She was also represented Tennessee in the American Association of Doctors. Slowly she began making money. I admired her strength and how not once she has shown any sort of weakness. Even though she’s my aunt I consider her to be the rock of my family. I can always count on her. We can sit for hours and talk about almost anything because I know that whatever situation I’m dealing with, she’s been through worse. And her sense of humor isn’t like anybody else’s. We laugh at things that no one can really understand. Tia Leah is my strongest role model: she has overcome every obstacle that has been thrown her.
Money no longer is an issue for her, but that wasn’t what made her happy, saving lives was. She loved absolute everything about her job, the late nights, hard work-- everything. While my aunt was in the states getting ahead of the competition, my dad lost his job here in Panama. He had to move to the States and start all over. Now, the tables were turned. In a time when my dad helped others, now he was the one who needed someone there for him. Embarrassed my dad asked my aunt for help, not once did she question him. She just gave him what he needed. I remember going out to dinner in the states with her, only this time when the check arrived at the table, she grabbed it before my dad, and said, “Don’t worry it’s on me.”

Dinner at Grandma’s

It describes my family in every way: hectic, disorganized, yet in every way perfect. As soon as you hear that screen door open you feel like you’ve walked into a carnival. The first thing that hits you is the smell. It doesn’t matter if it’s the freezing temperature of winter or the unbearable heat of summer, my grandmother’s house always smells like delicious, homemade food. The scent of nice warm chicken, made with all the love in the world, and her famous rice, which makes us all go crazy are always there. Everyone in her town knows about my grandmother’s house. It’s probably the biggest treasure chest you’ll ever go into. For pack rats its paradise, and for me its home. Her house is close to 100 years old, and you can definitely feel it.

In the middle of the room is a Central American table, made out of leather, surrounded by six chairs. The bottom parts of the chairs are U shaped from the weight that they have supported over the years. My family gathers around this table every morning of summer or Christmas vacation, and we tell stories while my “Abuela” cooks at the stove anything that we’re hungry for: chicken noodle soup with crackers on cold days or an endless supply of pancakes any time of the day or night. Behind the table are shelves that tell the story of my life and of the other people she loves. The shelves are bent because all the books and pictures that have been placed there. Pictures of me at two are there, and right next to them are my father’s pictures as a two year old which show our resemblance. There are invitations to weddings of fifteen years ago, and thank you cards for simply just being there in a time of need.  The shelves hold all these memories and warmly embrace new pictures or ornaments. During my breakfast I take the seat facing the shelves and I look at them for hours trying to find something new since my last visit; and there always is. 

In the background I hear my grandmother dancing to her Panamanian cumbia and she yells “Ay vamos , Panama,” which always makes me smile. My dad sits on an old rusty chair telling the funny stories that make me and my brothers laugh for hours. Then it becomes a competition between my Abuela and my dad to see who tells the funniest one. I simply think it makes their day to hear me and my brothers giggle. My grandfather is the biggest character of all. To me, he’s like the stereotypical redneck. His sits at the table with his white wife-beater shirt and his cutoff jeans that he probably got in a yard sale for $1.00, and starts saying to my brother, “You uuuglyyyy.”   He’s been saying that to my brother since he was three. It was funny back then, but not so funny anymore. Still we continue to laugh at it now because we think it makes him feel better. Also, since he had a stroke a few years ago I don’t really think he can come up with new jokes. The dogs and the parrots are always making noise, adding to the chaos. Tippy the dog is always jumping to try to eat my crackers, and, of course, Abuelo Mel is always feeding him my food. 

When you look up at the ceiling you can barely see it. It’s completely covered in baskets from every Latin American culture and the many yard sales my grandmother goes to every weekend.  My favorite ones are the Panamanian ones because I know they are special to my grandmother.   Living in the United States, I know her life is different and that every day she misses her grandchildren in Panama. Also, she misses the way of life and the warm people who surrounded her when she lived in Panama. She tells me stories about how she used to be the most beautiful woman and how all the boys would stand outside her window and throw pebbles at it. She would wake up in the middle of the night and they’d recite poems or give her serenades.   

 Everywhere around the kitchen is her collection of black and white cows. She has cow salt and pepper shakers, cow mittens, cow everything. It gives me all the joy in the world when we go and visit and she’s always excited to show me any new addition to her collection. It amuses me how my grandmother keeps holding on to her inner child. Something as simple as a cow tablecloth fills her with happiness.  I don’t know why we all gravitate towards the kitchen or why we sit there for hours after we’re done eating, but the feeling of love that is there seems to keep us glued to those chairs, long after the dishes have been cleared from the table.